


Unfortunate Daughter

by futsch



Series: Hero, Event, Prophecy [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Leading the Blind teasers, Rook being maternal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young girl from Rorikstead meets the Dragonborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfortunate Daughter

            Before the sun has a chance to betray her, Sissel slips out of the bed she shares with her sister and tugs a threadbare cotton dress over herself. It smells like the farm, the gritty stench of earth. Her shoes aren’t any better. Carefully, Sissel tip-toes as quiet as a whisper to the door, her nerves building into tiny knots and her stomach turning over itself. If she’s caught, Britte will punch her and pull her hair before the day even has a chance to begin. As she passes her father Lemkil’s room, she can hear his quiet snoring breaking the spell of hush that is the calm before the storm in her house.

            Sissel reaches the door without alerting her papa or her sister. Her hand shakes a little as she reaches for the handle and slowly opens the door. She opens it just as far as will allow her purchase to the outside and squeezes through the space. The girl is now outside but still has one more obstacle: closing the heavy, wooden door. Gingerly, she begins to close it and just as the deed is done, she feels it hitch slightly and releases a loud creak in response. Sissel winces, her shoulders involuntarily scrunch up and her stomach drops. She makes sure the door is closed and then runs like mad.

            As the earth runs up to meet her feet she closes her eyes and feels the wind lick at her hair and dress, whipping them wildly around her face and legs. She imagines that she is the divine Kynareth becoming one with the wind and the air. Sissel’s lungs are burning but it is a sweet burn, one that lets her know she’s moving faster than she should. She runs and runs and runs until she reaches the small forested patch outside of Rorikstead. The clean smell of air is so liberating, it is so unlike the stench of heavy earth. It is the light, _wonderful_ aroma of being free. It feels so safe.

* * *

 

            Her sister hasn’t found her the entire time that she has been out playing in the forest. Usually, Britte is quick to find her and then to beat her. Papa usually beats her after Britte tattles that she’s run off. Sissel takes the stick she has been using as a sword and stabs a small, brushy patch of grass. As she drives the stick in further, she twists it angrily.

            “I _don’t_ smell like a pig. _You_ smell like a pig. _You_ look like a pig,” Sissel whispers to her brush sister. She throws the stick away and her heart aches. Sometimes, she allows herself to think about the Dragonborn. Sissel doesn’t think about her often because it hurts too much to think about the lady who comes and goes at a whim, the lady who has _so_ much power. She hears whispers about the Dragonborn. _She’s an assassin_. _She’s killed over a hundred dragons. She wields magic like breathing air._ All those whispers Sissel hears but doesn’t know if they are true.

            The first time she saw the Dragonborn it was because a dragon had attacked. The great roar of the beast shook her to her very core and she was so frightened she started crying. She had been with Jouane when it swooped down upon the village. He held her and tried to soothe her with comforting words but to no avail. The dragon’s fires whipped through the town like a wind, setting roofs and livestock on fire. Some of the stationed Whiterun soldiers tried to fight back, loosing arrows and swinging swords wildly. Sissel saw one man get eaten alive, swallowed whole in one gulp. She was so afraid of dying until they all heard a voice.

            “ _Move out of the way, you idiots_!”

            Soldiers began to clamor here and there as the Dragonborn let loose a terrible shout of fire of her own. Sissel saw it happen but didn’t know how—the Dragonborn wore a mask but flames licked out in a storm from her. The dragon yielded briefly and the Dragonborn ran around, hooked her foot into its scales, jumped, and drove her sword through its skull and into its head. The blade snapped in half but the dragon fell over limply. A golden tangle of light began to unknot itself from the dragon and wrapped itself tightly around the Dragonborn, leaving only a skeleton behind.

            Sissel asked Jouane about the Dragonborn once. “Who is she, Jouane?”

            Jouane simply shook his head and smiled. “Complicated, my child, but make no mistake that she is powerful. If I were you I would never bother her lest you make her cross.”

            Sissel often wondered what it would be like to have that much power, the power to make others fear you.

* * *

 

            She usually meets Jouane around six at night at the Rorik Manor. Tonight is no different. She walks down from the woods and back to Rorikstead. The girl looks around to see if either her father or sister are wandering around town. At this time, neither usually were. Papa ate at the Frostfruit Inn and drank himself blind while Britte stayed at home eating whatever she had cooked. Jouane usually shares with Sissel some choice morsels like venison or pheasant. Once he gave her a sweet roll.

            As she opens the door to Rorik Manor, she can hear voices. The voices aren’t trying to be quiet but one voice in particular is more hushed than it should have been. Sissel creeps around a corner and her breath hitches at what she finds.

            “The _Dragonborn_ ,” she whispers to herself. The girl strains her ear to listen in.

            “And there’s nothing you can do about it?” asks Jouane.

            “I don’t take on charity cases. You know this, Jouane,” replies the dark lady.

            Jouane sighs and brings a hand to his forehead. “But we have nothing to offer you. Please, reconsider.”

            The Dragonborn cocks a hip and places a hand on it. Sissel can’t see anything but the arm she’s resting on her hip, angled at the elbow, her cape and her hood. She feels bad for Jouane but is still impressed by the dark lady’s ability to wield power over him.

            “There’s always something to be offered,” she points out. “The next time one of the Thieves’ Guild decides to make a run through here with some illicit merchandise, my suggestion would be to let it go.” Sissel hears something in the Dragonborn’s disdain, as if this sort of conversation bored her. 

            Jouane smiles. “I knew we could arrange something. Rorik won’t be happy but I’ll convince him this is best.”  

            “You always do,” she replies and turns on a heel, her cape whipping behind her.

            Sissel holds her breath as she runs down the hall and hides behind a cupboard. The Dragonborn walks past her and she feels the wind rush past her. It feels liberating. Sissel decides to follow her.

* * *

 

            The Dragonborn has climbed a hill that is outside Rorikstead. Sissel tries to follow her as quietly as possible but is sure she has been too loud. It’s not until the Dragonborn stops that Sissel sees what is waiting for them: an altar. The Dragonborn sits down in front of it and crosses her legs. Sissel is behind the same rock that she’s been hiding behind for the past five minutes when she hears the Dragonborn’s voice.

            “Child, come out of hiding.”

            Sissel freezes. Her father usually called her “child” right before he beat her. Sissel takes small, cautious steps. “I’m… I’m sorry, m’lady.”

            The woman laughs. “Sit,” she commands and pats at a space beside her. Sissel is still unsure but rests beside the Dragonborn, trying to mimic her posture.

            They sit in silence for a couple of minutes. Sissel can see that the altar is to the god Akatosh. There is a book and some offerings that the girl does not recognize.

            “I know Akatosh,” Sissel says hesitantly. “Jouane tells me all about the Eight.” After a second she adds, “Kynareth is my favorite.”

            “The Eights, Nines, and Tens,” she mutters before replying, “Both are good choices, I suppose.”

            Sissel doesn’t know how to reply. The Dragonborn pulls back her hood and wild, dark hair tumbles out. Sissel is amazed when she removes her mask and she looks like any old person. It’s not quite dark outside so the girl can see a bright, white scar across one eye and tiny others littering her face here and there. Unthinkingly, Sissel blurts out, “You aren’t a Nord.”

            The lady laughs. “Last time I checked I wasn’t. Don’t suppose that would have changed any time soon.”

            Sissel laughs because the woman is laughing but isn’t quite sure what is funny. The Dragonborn is pretty though even with her scars. They make her look fierce, unyielding. Sissel thinks it might be okay to talk to her though, the way she talks to Jouane. Slowly, she starts, “I wish I could be an adventurer like you and go wherever I want.”

            The Dragonborn studies her. “How many seasons have you seen? Eleven, Twelve?” Sissel nods but doesn’t indicate which, not wanting to break the spell. “I was close to your age when I had to leave my home.” The woman looks sad now. “But I’m well past that number of seasons. Sometimes being an adventurer isn’t quite what it looks to be.” Sissel frowns. “Not that it isn’t exciting.”

            Sissel smiles a little at that and adds, “I know some magic! I could protect myself.” She beams with pride.

            “Oh, really?” The Dragonborn gives her a soft smile. “Show me your best then.”

            Sissel strengthens her resolve and looks around. There’s a candle at the altar and she points to it. “I can light that candle.” She closes her eyes and concentrates on the small heat she has buried in the palm of one hand. Breathing slowly, in and out she imagines giving the heat life and feeding it the air it needs to grow. The heat begins to burn her hand a little and she opens her palm to reveal a small flame. Sissel dips her palm toward the candle and allows the flame to slide down her hand to the wick.

            Just as the tiny light grows around Akatosh, so does the happiness Sissel feels inside herself. She is elated. Sissel and Jouane have been practicing so hard lately and the fruits of her labor shine brightly.

            “Well, look at _that_. Impressive,” the lady compliments.

            “Can you do any magic?” Sissel asks, thrilled that the Dragonborn has found her impressive.

            The woman smiles. “What kind of magic would you like to see?”

            Sissel’s eyes widen in surprise. “You know _a lot_ of magic?”

            The Dragonborn simply presents Sissel with a closed palm. “Close your eyes.”

            Sissel can hardly sit still as she closes her eyes tight. She can feel a quiet hum vibrating in the air and then the sound of something like a distorted lute whooshed past her.

            “Open,” says the lady’s quiet voice.

            When Sissel opens her eyes, the small space is brilliantly lit. “Oh, _woooow_ ,” she whispers. “How did you do _that_?”

            The woman points above Sissel’s head where she sees a bright light tipped in a rainbow following her. No matter where she moves, the light stays with her. “Candlelight,” the Dragonborn tells her. “It’s a candlelight spell.”

            Sissel tries for a couple of seconds to touch the light but it simply slips beneath her fingertips. She giggles excitedly but then everything goes dark. “Eep!” she shrieks. “What happened?” Her eyes adjust back to the dark and Sissel sees the Dragonborn smiling.

            “All candles must go out at some point,” she states simply.

            The sun is going down, flat oranges and reds streak across the sky and Sissel frowns and a sudden flash of honesty overtakes the better of her judgements. “I don’t want to go back home. I hate papa and Britte.”

            The woman looks at Sissel for a moment, her face inscrutable. Finally, she reaches to her side and places a hand into the pouch that is attached to her belt. She digs around for a couple of seconds and pulls out a slender pin that has two tines at the end. On the tines and the grip Sissel can see strange markings. Sissel flinches when the Dragonborn takes her hair and pulls some of it back. Her hands deftly slide the pin in and her hair is secure.

            “There we go. Don’t want to look like a wild Nord, now do we?”

            Sissel giggles and corrects her, “But I _am_ a Nord.”

            “Yes, well,” the lady smiles. “You’ll just have to make do then.”

            The Dragonborn rises and begins to walk back down the hill. Sissel is so excited that she almost forgets something. “Wait!” she calls out to the woman who has put back on her mask and thrown her hood over her head.

            The woman stops but doesn’t turn back. “Yes?”

            “What’s your name?” Sissel asks.

            A brief second passes before she answers. “Rook.” And she begins to walk away again.

            Sissel watches her form fade into the shallow valley and returns to looking at Akatosh. She can’t imagine why the Dragonborn would visit here but it will soon become a place of reverence for Sissel herself. The girl smooths her hands down her hair and relishes the feel of it before she tenderly pulls out the pin. She can’t keep it at home. Britte would be sure to find it and take it. Or even worse: break it in half. Sissel places the pin in front of the dragon god and offers a prayer. When she is finished, Sissel stands up and looks at the town below.

            Rook. What a funny name for such a lady.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Sissel. She's perpetually a young girl in the game. I was always very interested in Sissel because she has a twin who abuses her--in addition to her father. I can't imagine what that must be like, having your mirror image tell you you're worthless. If you look up some of Sissel's dialogue and pay attention to some of the things in-game or look it up, she doesn't have a happy life.
> 
> The name Sissel is a Norse name meaning "without sight." (HINT HINT). Here's what I found out about the name Sissel: "People with this name have a deep inner desire for travel and adventure, and want to set their own pace in life without being governed by tradition. People with this name tend to be quiet, cooperative, considerate, sympathetic to others, adaptable, balanced and sometimes shy. They are trustworthy, respecting the confidences of others, and make excellent diplomats, mediators and partners. They are often very intuitive. They like detail and order, and often find change worrisome. They may sometimes feel insecure or restless."
> 
> Something to think about. Thanks for reading! -Ash


End file.
